Reconcile
by Strawberry Shortcake123
Summary: "Ziva, as much as it is possible, I want to be your father, and I want to know your family," he says, and she must decide whether she will grant his request. Companion oneshot to Family for Observation; can stand alone.


**Please read:**

**This is a oneshot using Tony and Ziva's daughter from my drabble series Bloom and Family for Observation, but if you haven't read those, you'll still be able to understand this. If you do read those, this does fit in the timeline of the series; it was supposed to be a drabble for FFO, but ended up being way too long, so here it is as a oneshot.**

**So please enjoy, and if you are so inclined, leave a review when you're done! :)**

The phone rang as they were finishing up lunch one Saturday. Its tinny sound could barely be heard over Tony and Ziva's laughter at something Azalea had said, and Ziva answered without looking at the caller ID, giggling a little as she asked, "Hello?"

"_Shalom,_ Ziva," a deep voice replied, and she felt her face fall.

She glanced up at Tony. He had noticed her stricken expression and was watching her, concerned. For several seconds she kept her eyes locked on his, until she gathered the courage to say, "_Shalom, abba_."

Her husband's jaw dropped a little. Ziva nodded toward the door; he obeyed, squeezing her hand before scooping up Azalea and leaving the kitchen. Alone with the phone and her father's voice, she concentrated on it, trying to calm the erratic beating of her heart. "How are you, my daughter?"

What did he expect her to say to this? Was she supposed to reply as if they talked regularly, ignoring the fact that this was the first time they had spoken in almost six years? She eventually gave a flat, "I am fine_,_ and you?"

Her father's sigh crackled over the line. "I must say that I am a little disappointed. Earlier this evening, I learned that you have been keeping my grandchild from me."

For the second time in as many minutes, her heart dropped into her stomach. When she looked down, she saw that she was gripping the edge of the table, hard enough that her knuckles were white. "Have you been spying on us?"

"The information came from a friend who knows you and Agent DiNozzo personally," he said, and though he did not say so, she knew it was Vance. "He mentioned that he had seen her- Azalea; he called her by name- last week and seemed surprised when I did not know who she was. Why would you keep this from me, Ziva?"

Anger swelled inside her, and it refused to be pushed down. "I asked you to come to my wedding," she said, and as her voice rose, she heard movement in the next room. A second later, the front door opened and closed; Tony had taken Azalea outside. "You said that you wanted to be in my life again, and I gave you the best opportunity, _abba_. I _wanted_ you there, and you did not come."

"Mossad was in a delicate sit-"

"I do not care!" she cried suddenly, surprising them both, but she did continue. "There was a time when I would not have wanted you there at all. I would have gone out of my way to tell you not to show yourself, but I had come far enough in forgiving you for everything that I went out of my way to invite you. And when you called me two days before to say you could not make it, the same way you used to tell me you could not come to my dance recitals, I began to think that you had not really changed. I did not see why I should tell you that I was pregnant just to be disappointed by you again."

Her father stood from his desk chair; she could hear its wheels squeak against the floor. "You were part of Mossad for years; I do not understand how you fail to see the position I am in!"

But she did understand. On her wedding day, she had reminded herself of his duty to Israel, that it was simply impossible for him to leave, and that had been enough to push the hurt aside for a while. In the following months and years, her rational side had given way to the irrational side that saw the two of them as father and daughter, not director and former operative, and as the daughter, she could not help but feel betrayed.

This was the side of her that prevailed as tears pricked her eyes.

She didn't reply. She could not possibly explain these feelings to him.

Silence filled her ear for several long seconds, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. "Ziva, as much as it is possible, I want to be your father, and I want to know your family. I can come next weekend, and we can spend as much or as little time together as you would like."

In a carefully constructed, strong voice, she said, "I will have to talk to Tony."

"Do whatever you need to do, and call me back whenever you wish."

Ziva could not find the strength to say _shalom_ as she ended the call; she simply lowered the phone from her ear, pressed the end button, and lay it gingerly on the table.

0000000000

"Damn," Tony said that night, when Azalea was in bed and they finally had time for her to relay the conversation she'd had with her father. He sat at one end of the couch and watched her sit down at the other end, a bowl of grapes in hand. "Are you okay, Ziva?"

"I am fine," she said, nudging his bare foot with hers. "I am just… confused."

"It's a question of what you want," he said, reaching forward to take one of her grapes. Any other night, she would have swatted at his hand; tonight, she hardly noticed.

Ziva tilted her head onto the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. She opened her mouth to say something, and then squinted. "Why is there a purple stain next to the light fixture?"

"It was Azalea," he said, a little too quickly, and then got back to the matter at hand. She let him. "Listen, about your dad… we'll do whatever you think is best."

Before she spoke, she scooted closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Tony squeezed her knee and took another grape. "I am afraid of how I will feel, seeing him again, and more importantly, I do not know if I want Azalea to have a relationship with him."

He waited, because he knew more was coming.

"Your father comes and visits once or twice a year," she continued, "and the two of you are on much better terms than you once were. But mine… his trips here would be several years apart, at best, and there might be tension… should we even put her through that?"

Ziva was looking up at him now, slowly chewing a grape, waiting for him to answer her question. "You really want to know what I think?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Tony."

Instead of giving a 'yes' or a 'no,' he said, "Look, you know how I feel about your dad. Most of me doesn't want him anywhere near you or Aza. But there's another part of me that kind of feels for that bastard, because I know he does love you, and I know he would love her. And it might not be an entirely functional relationship, but… I think, as much as it pains me to say it… it might be a beneficial one."

Nothing could have surprised her more than to hear him say this last sentence. She sat up, set the grapes on the table, looked at him seriously. "Why might it be beneficial?"

"Because Azalea will get a grandparent who loves her."

And even if her father would have a hard time showing his love, even if he could not visit them often, even if Azalea never developed a close relationship with him, Ziva knew that this, at least, was true, that it would always be true.

"It's a risk."

"Little bit, yeah."

Her left arm crept around his neck, and she shifted so that she was half in his lap. "Tony, he hurt me."

"I know, babe."

With that, she pressed her face into his shoulder and let her tears escape. Tony enveloped her in his arms and pressed his lips against her hair. The window was cracked open, and a breeze blew in, and she shivered; he rubbed his hands up and down her back, keeping her warm, keeping her safe. Some time later, she sniffled and said to his t-shirt, "I am going to let him meet her."

0000000000

It was six days later that her father's flight arrived at Dulles. Tony and Ziva had both left work early to meet him, and they sat nervously in the waiting area, taking turns bouncing their four-year-old on their knees. The adults didn't talk, but Azalea squealed and giggled, as she was quite enjoying her parents' form of entertainment. Every so often Ziva felt Tony's hand squeeze her shoulder, and it prompted her to take a deep breath, hold it for ten seconds, and release slowly.

Eli David was the first person from his plane to stroll into the lobby, a leather carry-on bag over his shoulder. The first thing she noticed was how much he had aged; the second thing she noticed was his eyes, because they were drilling right into hers.

She looked over at Tony, at a loss for what to do next. He took Azalea from his lap and held her out. "Go ahead," he murmured, and she stood, swinging her daughter around to rest on her hip. When she looked up, her father's eyes had fixated on the little girl's face.

"We are going to meet your _saba_," she said to Azalea as they approached him.

"My _saba_," Azalea repeated. She had been hearing the word all week in preparation for today, but lacked a true understanding of what it meant. "I'm goin' see my _saba_! What's my _saba_, Mommy?"

Ziva came to a stop about ten steps from him, suddenly unable to move anymore, needing a moment to collect herself. With a glance over her shoulder and an encouraging thumbs-up from Tony, she held Azalea so that she could clearly see her grandfather. "This is your _saba_."

He closed the gap between them, hand outstretched- and then he froze, looking at Ziva, asking permission. She pursed her lips and nodded.

"Hello_, _Azalea," he said, encasing her small hand in his large one, and Ziva realized how long it had been since she'd heard that voice in person rather than over the phone. She had to admit that at this moment, it was good to hear.


End file.
